


Passionate as Hell (But Always in Control)

by phoestiel



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Captain of the Barollins Ship Honestly, F/M, I'm not sorry, PWP, this is basically just smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoestiel/pseuds/phoestiel
Summary: Rafael and Amanda spend an unforgettable night in a hotel room.  My friend Julia helped me with the Spanish; if there are still mistakes, it is my fault for being unclear in what I was trying to say.





	

Amanda’s heart is pounding, blood hot with desire, and she licks her lips. This is not how she’d expected their fourth date to end, but she’s not mad. She hears Rafael take a breath, feels the bed move with his weight as he kneels over her, but she can’t see him. His tie is covering her eyes, the silk smooth against her skin.

“Kiss me,” she says, reaching for him. He touches her hands the moment she reaches for him. He kisses her fingertips and for a moment she’s rendered speechless. She knew he could be kind but she didn’t expect him to be _tender._ Her breath catches and she pulls him close by the sleeves of his shirt. “Please.”

“Anything you want, _querida,”_ he murmurs, and his weight on her feels so good. She’s stripped down to her underwear; he’d undressed her the moment they got to the room. His hands had been slow and knowing as he unzipped her dress, kissing her shoulders as he slid the straps off them. By the time he was done getting her out of her dress, she was breathing fast, eyes glittering. His hands ran up her back and into her hair as he kissed her mouth. He was so warm and he touched her like she was something _precious_ , like it was his good fortune to have her here with him. She’d tugged at his tie, undoing the knot and easing it off him, feeling like an untamed thing. He caught her wrist before she could drop the tie on the floor, and she’d smiled at his concern for his clothes. And then he whispered _how much do you trust me, detective?_ And the breath went out of her lungs because the answer was _a lot._ Another surprise. 

He’d earned it by always being consistent: if he’d been an asshole, at least it had always been in the same way. He was often annoyed but his ire was never personal, and he’d never once made her feel like she owed him anything more than professional excellence. She’d seen his kindness with witnesses, too. With herself, when she gave her testimony about Patton. Had that been when this thing started between them? She wants to figure it out, but she can’t, not when his lips are on hers and his hands are ghosting down her side. His mouth trails to her neck and he whispers in Spanish against her skin, something about sweet and love. She arches towards him; she hasn’t been this worked up for ages. He’s barely done anything to her yet but she’s nearly undone. The buttons on his shirt feel slick under her fingers as she works it off him, and she wonders if they’re made of plastic. Leave it to him to have wooden buttons or something equally distinct. She works him out of his shirt, eager to touch him, but he’s wearing an undershirt and she makes a strangled noise of frustration. He stops kissing her, pulls back, and she can feel his sudden concern. She almost grins.

“Rollins?” he asks. She sighs, pushing at the undergarment.

“Why do you wear so many layers?” She asks, rucking the shirt up. He takes the hint and leans back to take the shirt off, chuckling. The air feels cold on her skin after the warm press of his body against her and she shivers the tiniest bit.

“Perfection doesn’t happen in one layer,” he says, coming back to her. She huffs a laugh, half annoyed and half amused.

“There’s that famous Barba humility,” she says, her hands running up his chest and over his shoulders. He settles on top of her again, kissing down her jaw to her ear. “And call me Amanda. I think we’re past formalities.”

“I’d say so, _mi amor,”_ he murmurs, chuckling again. He kisses a line down her neck, but he is not consuming her the way she expected. His lips worship and exalt; she makes a sound at the back of her throat again as her fingers rake through his hair. He moves down over her collarbone, hands grazing her hips, and she pictures his lips sugared with her desire. Her breath hitches at the thought and she arches against him as his fingers find the edge of her underwear. his thumb traces the line of the elastic and she hooks a leg over his hip, wanting. He’s still wearing his pants- must be wool blend, there’s a slight itch to the fabric- and she reaches down to undo his buckle. He lets out a breath against her, and she feels the heat of it skim over her skin.

“Rafael-” she says, her voice high and liquid and edging towards a whine. He kisses her shoulder as she pulls his belt free and unfastens his pants.

“Call me Rafi [_por favor, querida. Nadie me llama Rafael_](https://translate.google.ca/?biw=1360&bih=638&espv=2&bav=on.2,or.r_cp.&bvm=bv.136593572,d.amc&dpr=1&ion=1&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=en&client=tw-ob#auto/en/por%20favor%2C%20querida.%20Nadie%20me%20llama%20Rafael),” he tells her. He doesn’t even know he’s slipped into Spanish. She wonders if she can call him _Rafi_ all the time or only when she’s nearly naked under him and his hands are trying to touch every inch of her skin. 

“Rafi,” she says, trying it out. He gives a pleased hum at the sound of it.

[ _“¿Sí querida? Pregúntame cualquiera cosa, soy tuyo para mandar,”_](https://translate.google.ca/?biw=1360&bih=638&espv=2&bav=on.2,or.r_cp.&bvm=bv.136593572,d.amc&dpr=1&ion=1&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=en&client=tw-ob#auto/en/%E2%80%9C%C2%BFS%C3%AD%20querida%3F%20Preg%C3%BAntame%20cualquiera%20cosa%2C%20soy%20tuyo%20para%20mandar%2C%E2%80%9D) he purrs. She never noticed before, but his voice is different when he speaks Spanish. Richer. Warmer. It could be that she’s only ever heard the odd phrase from him, mostly in passing and never in passion. But the sound of it now settles inside her in a warm coil, and she sighs through parted lips.

“I don’t know what you just said but it sounds real good,” she says. He laughs and she thinks he’s looking at her: his lips aren’t on her, she can’t feel his breath on her skin.

[ _”¿Qué pasara si te diría que serías increíblemente bella y romperías mi corazón?”_](https://translate.google.ca/?biw=1360&bih=638&espv=2&bav=on.2,or.r_cp.&bvm=bv.136593572,d.amc&dpr=1&ion=1&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=en&client=tw-ob#auto/en/%C2%BFQu%C3%A9%20pasara%20si%20te%20dir%C3%ADa%20que%20ser%C3%ADas%20incre%C3%ADblemente%20bella%20y%20romper%C3%ADas%20mi%20coraz%C3%B3n%3F%E2%80%9D) His voice is lower, more intimate, and she catches _what if_ and you _are beautiful_ and _heart_. It sounds like the things Nick used to say to her, but she never believed him. It was just pillow talk, things you say to your lover but don’t mean, like _you’re everything I want_ and _I love you._

She believes Rafael, though. Whatever he just said sounds sincere. If it’s not she doesn’t want to know.

“Whatever you say, honey, yeah.” He’s still not kissing her, and one of his hand moves up over her belly and skims the curve of her breast.

“No, my darling, whatever _you_ say,” he says. She chuckles, breathless with desire. His thumb traces the outline of her bottom lip, fingers under her chin. “Tell me what you want. Anything.” She kisses his thumb, sweet and light, and this time it’s his breath that catches in his throat.

“I want _you,_ sugar,” she breathes. She moves to push his pants down, but he catches her wrists.

“To do what?” his voice is warm, encouraging, his hands heavy on her wrists but not threatening. She licks her lip, heart pounding. Nobody’s ever asked her that before, not in a way that made her believe he _meant_ it. She can’t think for a moment. “Tell me.”

“I-I want,” she says, her voice high, “I want you to, uh. Touch me.” He might be smiling, but he’s not _laughing_ at her and she’s relieved. Her whole body feels warm all of a sudden, and there is not enough of him pressed against her. She moves under him a little bit and he lets go of her wrists.

“You can do better than that, can’t you?” His voice is liquid silk. She makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and her legs go around his hips, trying to pull him closer. He’s still wearing his goddamn pants but she doesn’t care as long as he stays close like this. He chuckles and she clenches her hands into fists. “Oh, I know you can. Try again.” His tone is teasing but so hot she thinks she’ll burn up if he keeps talking. Her lips part but at first she can’t get the words out. He puts his hands on her hips and her eyes slip closed behind the tie.

“I want,” she begins, but she has to touch him before she can go on. Her hands rest on his arms for a moment and then stroke up to his shoulders. “Your hands. On me. I want to… to feel your hands-” she stops again and bites the corner of her lip, thinking about it. His hands on her. Touching her skin everywhere, making her shiver. A hand between her legs, stroking at her until she’s a shaking mess of need under him. Fingers slipping inside of her, working her to orgasm. God, she just wants to be full of him, to feel him inside, to be _his._ “Fuck. Make me come, Rafi, please, I need it, I need _you,_ please honey. Please…”

She’s glad she can’t see him; her face flushes at her own shameless begging, but now that she’s thinking about his hands she’s breathless and ready to come undone. She moves against him, impatient, but stills when she feels his fingers slide inside her underwear.

“Is this what you want, _mi vida_?” He asks. She could slap him for making her say it again, but the words fall out of her mouth in an eager rush in spite of herself.

“Yes, please, _yes_ , just touch me, baby,” she whines. He chuckles, but it sounds breathless, like he’s barely keeping control, and it appeases her a little. He slides her underwear down her hips and she’s about to lose her fucking mind because _he’s still not touching her_ , but then his thumb strokes over her clit and she can feel the cool air of the hotel room on her thighs and she’s panting already, her whole body a bundle of nerves.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, and his voice is demanding, like when he’s cross examining a witness. She arches against him, raking a hand through his hair.

“Yes, fuck, _yes_ , more please-” And she’s so relieved he doesn’t hold out on her anymore, doesn’t tease her anymore. His thumb and then a finger stroke at her, and she bucks her hip against him because it feels good. She bites her lip, biting back moans as his fingers speed their rhythm.

[ _"Quiero escucharte, querida,”_](https://translate.google.ca/?biw=1360&bih=638&espv=2&bav=on.2,or.r_cp.&bvm=bv.136593572,d.amc&dpr=1&ion=1&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=en&client=tw-ob#auto/en/Quiero%20escucharte%2C%20querida%2C%E2%80%9D) he says, and she opens her eyes to look at him. The tie is still in place; light leaks around the edges, but she can’t see him.

“In English?” she pants. They’re moving together, his hand and her hips, and she can hear him breathing heavily as he pleasures her.

“Let me hear you,” He says. “I want to hear how much you like it.” Well, _fuck._ She almost laughs, but suddenly his fingers feel just right against her and she bucks against him, reaching down to hold his hand still right where she wants it, and moans his name. He growls low in his throat, and she thinks he’s telling her to come but he’s speaking in Spanish again so she doesn’t know. She complies anyway, knees hugging him and back arching.

“Oh,” she says, lips buzzing and ears ringing. “Jesus.”

“No, _mi vida,_ ” he says, his voice quiet and warm, “my name is Rafi.” She can imagine how he’s looking at her: one eyebrow raised, peering at her through his eyelashes, a cocky smirk on his lips. She laughs, pressing her knees against him again in reproach for the terrible joke.

“I oughta _arrest_ you for that,” she says. “See how cute y’get when I slap cuffs on ya.” He chuckles and his hand moves against her again, slow and easy. She gives a pleased huff at his gentleness, not quite ready to move with him but enjoying the sensation. 

“Maybe we can play with the handcuffs next time,” he murmurs. “I promise you, I’ll be as subdued as you want.” Well, now she’s picturing that. Him with his hands behind him, at her complete mercy. Maybe on his knees. Or, no: sitting in a chair (maybe in his office, that chair he sits in like it’s his throne), hands behind him, blindfolded. Her straddling his lap, her hand on his cock and working him towards orgasm. Him begging her to let him come and her saying _not yet, darlin, stay with me for a minute._

“Oh,” she says, exhaling in a rush and reaching for him. He moves to kiss her and she’s touching his shoulders, his arms, his hair, as she edges toward orgasm again, just like that. “You’d like that, huh?” She doesn't recognize her own voice; it’s high and breathy and _hot._

"Would you?” He counters, lips moving against hers. “I bet you would. You could gag me too, if you wanted, and then I couldn't even _say_ anything.” She imagines him gagged with the silky material of her underwear and she moans as he slips two fingers inside of her. She clings to his shoulder, breathing hard. “Yeah, you’d like that. You’d have the upper hand and believe me, that is a rare occurrence.” His fingers feel so good in her and she writhes against him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it, I won’t believe you. I’ve seen how you look at me sometimes when I’m in court, _querida,_ or in the squad room. You’d love to shut me up, wouldn’t you? You’d love to have me humbled at your feet.”

 _Oh, Jesus Christ._ His voice is low and smokey again, and there’s a tightness to it that tells her he’s thought about it, too. He’s probably wondered what exactly she’d do to him given the chance, or what she’d let him do. “Shut up, will you? Oh god, I’m gonna-” 

“You want me to shut up? You have any ideas what I can do with my mouth instead?” He moves his hand away from her before she peaks again, rubbing her own slickness on her thigh. She swallows hard, still clinging to him, aching with need. It should be fucking illegal, how his voice sounds, how warmth spreads through her at his implication. She thinks of grabbing his hair, holding him where she wants him, and riding against his mouth. Her face flushes hot, the blush spreading to her chest.

“You’re a clever guy, you’ll think of something,” she says, her voice an octave or two too high. He chuckles and kisses her again, lingering and thorough. His mouth should feel like an obscenity against hers, given the filthy way he’s talking and the confident, demanding way he’s kissing her. But it’s not obscene; it’s just all-consuming pleasure and she can’t get enough. She rakes her fingers through his hair and squirms under him, body still buzzing. She needs _more_ : more contact, more friction, more of him. All of him. But before she can ask, his mouth is trailing down her neck and over her collarbone. He follows the line of her breastbone, one hand cupping her before fingers brush over her nipple and he kisses the curve of her breasts. Again, she feels like a precious thing in his hands, a gift he is savoring. Her pulse is racing, thudding in her ears and throat and wrists. His mouth doesn’t linger; he moves over her belly, sucking and biting but not leaving marks. She arches slightly against him and he chuckles at her eagerness. She could kill him, except that it’s a breathless, wanting laugh. “See, darlin? You’re doing just fine comin up with ideas of your own."

“Oh, I’ve got ideas, Amanda. Plenty of them.” He says. The sound of her name on his lips like that races through her, heat lightning in her veins. 

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name,” she says. He pauses and she feels the stubble on his chin graze her stomach: he must be looking at her.

“Is it?” he asks. She laughs, reckless and close to shattering.

“Yeah.” She clenches her fists at her side, touches her tongue to her lip. “Say it again.”

“Amanda,” he says, caressing the syllables in his mouth. It sounds soft and musical on his lips. She touches his cheek, fingers gentle. He exhales against the touch and she smiles.

“Rafi,” she says, and it’s half a plea and half a demand. He moves lower, not bothering to kiss her again, and she arches up to meet his mouth. He puts his hands under her hips and her head goes back on the pillow as she moans. He works his mouth against her, his tongue stroking over her clit in a steady rhythm.The taste of her is at once too much and not enough; he wants to be flooded with it, drowned in it, and he pulls her closer with a groan.Her legs go limp but her thighs quiver on his shoulders. She tries to move against him but he is not having that: he wants her the way he wants her. She gets the message, her hips stilling and cries of pleasure falling from her lips. He licks at her, tongue hot and wet and too soft and too much against her. She rakes her hands through his hair again, and her voice goes high and sweet and incoherent. He quickens his pace and it’s all she needs: she comes again, bucking against him, fingers tightening on his hair. He groans against her, breath warm on sensitive skin, and she’s shaking as she comes down from her peak.

She tugs at his shoulder, wanting to feel him close to her again. He moves over her without hesitation and leans in to kiss her. She can smell herself on his lips and chin; the carnality of it short circuits her for a moment. Her breath hitches when his lips touch hers, her arms twining around his neck and keeping him close. She kisses him, fierce and hot, and he growls against her mouth.

“I wanna look at you,” she breathes against him. He nods but she doesn’t let him answer; her mouth is on his again and she’s the one devouring, demanding. He eases the tie off with one hand, and she clings to him for a moment. Her own desire frightens her and she can’t look at him, not when she’s laid bare like this. And it’s not that she’s not wearing any clothes, because being naked is the easiest thing in the world. It’s the rest of it that makes her shy: how she let him blindfold her, how she begged him to touch her, how much she wants him. Naked is naked; this is intimacy, and it scares the shit out of her. She takes a deep breath and lays back, eyes still closed.

“Amanda. Look at me.” His voice is warm and gentle, not at all the inferno it was before. That’s a voice she can trust, even if she doesn’t want to trust anyone. He kisses her mouth, easy and sweet. “I think we’re past shame.” She exhales through her teeth, arms still around him. “Aren’t we, _querida_?” She opens her eyes, heart in her throat, and she has to catch her breath because he’s so close. His eyes have hazel flecks in them; she feels like she should have known that but seeing it now surprises her. They’re breathing in the same rhythm, his lips parted slightly as her blue eyes take him in. She’s never seen him this undone; he is alway impeccable, always in control. Now his hair's a mess and he’s not wearing a shirt ( _shirts_ , because perfection doesn’t happen in one layer) and his face is flushed.

“Hi,” she says. He huffs a laugh and it occurs to her that he’s afraid to be seen like this. She’s afraid to look and he’s afraid to be seen but here they are, eyes open, looking and seen. She answers his laugh with a smile, moves her hand to touch his cheek. He closes his eyes, swallows, and she’s floored that he’s afraid of _her_ rejecting him.

“Hi,” he murmurs. She pulls him in for a kiss, not as urgent as before. He kisses her like he’s relieved and grateful she didn’t look at him, laugh, and then get up to walk away. She wonders if he has the same problem she does: people don’t stay. She presses closer to him, deepening the kiss: _’m not goin anywhere, sugar. ’M right here._ He melts against her, pressing her into the bed under him. His weight on her isn’t oppressive, though, only comforting and _good._

Her hands move to his shoulders. She doesn’t stop kissing him, but she pushes at him until he gets the hint and rolls over. She follows him, still kissing him, and his hands move over her shoulders as she climbs on top of him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, smiling a little, fingers stroking hair back from her face. She grins and lifts an eyebrow.

“Whatever I want,” she says, the Georgia lilt sweet on her tongue. “Ain’t that what you said, _anythin y’want, querida?”_ He chuckles.

“It is what I said, yes.” he’s using his courtroom voice again and she wonders if he does that with everyone he sleeps with, or if he’s just doing it now because he noticed how it gets to her.

“Good.” She starts to move down his body, her voice close to her scolding-cop tone. “Just makin sure you didn’t wanna recant or anythin.”

“I stand by my statement,” he says, his voice still that silky, lawyerly tone that shouldn’t be hot but _is._

"I’m gonna hold you to it.” her hands run down his sides as she moves, and she realizes he’s still wearing his goddamn pants. She looks at him. “Jesus Christ. Are y’allergic to bein’ naked?"

“I was _busy,_ Amanda, I _forgot_ to take them off because I was _distracted,”_ he counters. “Would you like an account of what I was distracted by? Because my memory is pretty fresh, even if yours isn’t.” Under normal circumstances, that tone would make her want to slap the smug right out of him, but now she just grins at him, blue eyes burning.

“Just take ‘em off,” she says, tugging them down. He chuckles at her again and lifts his hips so she can get them off.

“Don’t just throw-” He begins, but she looks him right in the eye and drops his pants on the floor. He sighs, exasperated, and she chuckles in the back of her throat. 

So sorry, counselor, I didn’t _hear_ you,” she teases, hands sliding over his bare thighs. He takes a breath at her cool hands on him. “‘M a little _distracted.”_ He huffs half a laugh at that, watching her. Her hands move restlessly on him as she settles on her knees between his legs.

“How distracted can you get?” He asks, and sweet baby Jesus. She knows what he wants and she’s beginning to think if he asks her _anything_ in that tone, she’ll do it. She’s flushing hot all over again; before she’d only had to imagine what he looked like looking at her, but now she can see him. His eyes burn and flash at her; she’s never been seen so clearly.

“How distracted d’ya want me to be?” She answers archly, fingers stroking close to his cock but not quite touching. He groans in his throat, head going back, and she has to take a breath.

“Don’t tease,” he pleads. She chuckles, fingers tracing up his hips and then down again.

“I thought you liked teasin,” she says, her voice warm and sweet: all Georgia now, not a trace of New York. “don’tcha, honey?” If she knew what her voice was doing to him, she’d never stop talking. He’d always liked her slight lilting accent, liked the way _down home_ slipped in from time to time. But this? This is something else: he’s pretty sure she doesn’t talk like this to everyone. Her voice is so sweet his teeth ache, and the taste of her lingers on his tongue still. She doesn’t know all that, of course, doesn’t know what she could do to him right now; all she can see is that he wants her, and she’s enjoying it. 

“I do,” he says, “when it’s me doing the teasing. The other way around is not so much my thing.”

“Ain’t you ever heard what’s good for the gander is good for the goose?” She shifts back a little, getting comfortable. She dips her head forward and he tenses in anticipation, holds himself completely still for so long he has to look at her again. He sees her hovering over him, mouth close enough to taste, but not doing it.

“Amanda,” he pleads. She just grins at him, but he can feel her breath on sensitive skin and he groans again. “Please."

“Please what? You’re gonna have t’be specific here. I ain’t a mind reader.” Goddamn her. It’s so much easier when he’s calling the shots: he doesn’t have to humble himself. He takes a breath, holds it, then lets it out in a rush.

“Please suck my cock,” he says, the words crisp. And because he’s Rafael Barba, because he cannot help himself, he adds, “if you’d be so kind.” She fucking _giggles,_ the sound light and tinkling and pleased. Her cheeks flush and she bites the corner of her lip, shaking her head.

“Well, when y’put it like that,” she purrs. He’s going to answer her, say something sharp, but then her mouth is on him, warm and wet, and his breath rushes out of his lungs. Her tongue strokes the underside of his cock experimentally and he can’t _look_ at her, fuck, it’s too much, too beautiful, he’s going to come just like this. _Fuck._

She gives him a minute, easing off but not too far. Her lips tease the tip of his cock and he whimpers, wanting to ask for more but unable to get the words out. He wants this too much; wants it to last but is also right on the brink, and his hands move to stroke her hair because he has to touch her. She tenses; she’s expecting him to grab a handful of hair in one fist, move her where he likes now that she’s made herself vulnerable. But he only brushes his fingers through her hair and murmurs encouragement to her. She backs off him, exhaling deeply and closing her eyes.

"Amanda?” He asks, voice warm. His fingers stroke through her hair and she moves over him, needing to kiss him. If he’s surprised by this sudden change, he doesn’t show it, lets her kiss him until she’s satisfied. His hands move over her, indulgent and hungry, but not possessive.

“M’fine.” She answers finally, breathless from kissing him. “I’m just fine, sugar.” and it’s true. Not even Declan had treated her with such gentleness; he’d cared about her, took his time with her, but there’s something about the way Rafael touches her that sanctifies her and makes her a divine being.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She kisses him again. His hand ghosts up her spine and back down, and she shivers at the intimacy of it. “But, uh. I think I need t’feel you inside me now. Like, right now.” The words are soft, and he stops breathing when he hears them. 

“Anything you want,” he says, voice like smoked silk. Hands settle at her waist and she grins at him. “There are condoms in my pants pocket.” She gives one of those light, tinkling laughs again. If he can keep her laughing like that forever, he’ll be a happy man.

“M’not sure I like the implication of that. Like you _expected_ me t’come up here with you. Like I’d be easy.” She scolds him, moving to the edge of the bed. “That ain’t no way to treat a lady.”

“Not an expectation. Call it hope with a little insurance.” He murmurs. She comes back with the condom in her hand and he tries not to think about how she has just dropped his pants on the floor _again._ “A lady, huh? Is that what you are?”

“When it comes to you? No. I think _eager’s_ the word we’re looking for,” she answers, opening the foil package.

“ _Enthusiastic_ also works,” he offers as she puts the condom on him. His breath catches at the feel of hand closing around him.

“ _Desirous,_ too, if y’wanted to use a different letter of the alphabet.” She tells him, her voice going higher. She licks her lip, considering him under her. “Do you trust me, counsellor?” The air rushes out of his lungs, heat darkening his face and flashing through his veins. He can’t answer for a moment and he swallows, throat suddenly dry.

Yes.” This is as true for him as it was for her, and her smile is the most glorious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. He takes a hitching breath as she picks up the discarded tie from the bed. “What, uh. What are you going to do?

“ _Whatever I want,_ ” she replies. He lets out a groan laced with desire and exasperation. “Gimme your hands, baby.” his heart his pounding hard, mouth dry, but he does as she asks. She begins to wrap the tie around his wrists and his eyes slip closed as he takes a deep breath. “You okay?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, nearly laughing. “This is fine. Perfect. Please continue.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna,” she answers with a grin. She knots the tie, looping the free end in one fist as she moves her hips In a slow roll against him. He pulls at the tie, needing to touch her now that he can’t. He groans as he feels her press her sex against his own hard length. 

“Don’t tease,” he pleads. She tugs the tie, pulling his hands higher over his head, and rolls her hips against him again, groaning at the back of her throat.

“I can’t hear you, baby,” she answers. He moves his hips under her, needing to feel her warmth. All he gets is the pressure of her moving over his length again and he takes a hitching breath.

“You said you wanted me inside you,” he reminds her, voice breathless with need. “Please, Amanda-”

“Did I say that?” she asks, her voice sweet but edged with lust. Her eyes are sparkling as she grinds down against him, and he whimpers.

“Yes, _yes_ , you said that. You said you needed to feel me inside you, you-”

“Yeah, but what if I like it just like this, huh? What if _anything I want_ is this? ‘Cause your cock, Rafi? It feels real good just like this,” she tells him. He moans at her filthy words and closes his eyes, panting and straining against her. He’s frustrated at her teasing, but his body is so hot he feel like he’s going to burn up under her. He takes another breath, opening his eyes and looking up at her.

“Fuck me, Amanda. Stop teasing and _fuck_ me.” Now it’s her who was to close her eyes; his voice is demanding, implacable. A voice she’s moving to obey before she realizes it, and she chuckles hot and low when she does.

“Like this?” She says, grasping him with her free hand and teasing her entrance with his cock.

“Yes, like that,” he answers, the words clipped and hot. She bites her lip and they gasp together as she guides him into her. He tries to find leverage to thrust up against her because he wants more, but she rocks back, easing off him just a little.

“Hold on, baby, you let me enjoy this,” she murmurs. Her eyes are still closed because he feels so _good,_ just full enough to make her want more. She sinks down onto him, a little more this time, a little fuller, and moans at the feeling. “Jesus God, this is so good. You’re so good for me.”

He’s biting his lip, pulling against the restraint as she grinds against him. Words of praise and encouragement slip from his lips; it’s all in Spanish so she doesn’t understand, but the sound of his voice warm and urgent goes through her and settles in a hot coil in the pit of her stomach. She feels a rush of warmth between her legs, a precursor to orgasm. Her breath is catching in her throat, eyes glittering, and he says her name and that’s it. She’s over the edge before she knows it, his name a moan in the back of her throat, back arched, gripping the tie as though it’s the only thing holding her in her body. She falls onto his chest, breathing hard, eyes closed.

“ _Querida?_ ” he asks, voice a little too high. She nods against him, putting her hand on his chest and sitting up a little. He sighs at the slight change of position. He’s already forgotten how her skin feels under his palm; his hands burn to touch her again.

“That was, uh,” she licked her lip, moving her hips against him more slowly because she’s sensitive, nerves still buzzing. He chuckles.

“Fucking magnificent,” he tells her. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“Don’t. Don’t fucking _talk_ to me, you’re gonna make me-”

“What, come again? Please. Please do it again, exactly like that.” He’s teasing her, half laughing, but there’s a silky note of command that gives him away. Even under her, hands bound, he thinks he’s in control. It burns her up, heat lightning in her veins, but it’s not anger. Just like that she’s pushed towards the edge again, and her hips stutter against him in a rhythm of unrestrained desire. His breath is harsh in his throat, and he wants to touch her so badly he can hardly bear it. He clenches his hands into fists as he tries to find leverage again. She drops the tie, leaning back and moaning at the way he’s filling her, so complete and satisfying that the palms of her hands are tingling with the pleasure of it. He stops trying to meet her, just lays back and watches her ride him, back arched, one hand braced on his thigh to steady herself. 

“Oh my god, honey, just… just like that,” she pants. “I- oh my god-”

“ _Por favor, por favor mi bonita Amanda,_ ” he pleads. He aches to touch her as her muscles clench around him. Her hips slow against him, a drawn out moan falling from her lips, and then she’s bracing both hands on his shoulders, pinning him under her as she shifts position. Their eyes meet, and for a moment the space between them is hot with an electricity that feels like it’s burning them up but not hurting; it’s too beautiful to hurt, too hot, too _good._ There are no words, only the feeling of her hands on his shoulders and his cock inside her, and then the bottom drops out from under her; she’s saying his name and her eyes flutter shut as another orgasm shudders through her, hot and all-consuming. She’s shaking apart on top of him, completely undone, hair falling into her eyes. He groans as he feels the warm wet flood of her climax; he wants to put his hands on the small of her back and hold her against him as the pleasure vibrates through her.

“Amanda?”

“Yeah, honey?” Her voice is sultry and he can feel her arms and thighs trembling.

“My hands. I have to touch you.” She laughs, still breathless with desire. Her fingers fumble on the knot she made; there is too much adrenaline in her to concentrate. She manages to loosen it, and a moment later he pulls his hands from their restraint and reaches for her. Her skin feels silky-hot under his hands and he traces the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the hollow of her lower back as though he is trying to memorize her. His arm goes around her waist, holding her close, and she finds his lips with hers. He moves into a sitting position, bracing himself with his other arm. She’s clinging to his shoulder now, breathing a quiet _oh_ against his lips because she feels so full of him she can hardly move. Doesn’t want to move. Just wants to feel every inch of him, just like this. And not just his hard length inside of her, though that is satisfying in a way she’s never felt before; she wants his thighs pressed against hers, his arm around her waist, her chest pressed to his, his mouth on her shoulder, her neck, her mouth. 

“Rafi,” she whispers, and she’s surprised at the tremble in her voice. 

[_“Estoy aquí, mi amor. Estoy aquí para siempre,”_](https://translate.google.ca/?biw=1360&bih=638&espv=2&bav=on.2,or.r_cp.&bvm=bv.136593572,d.amc&dpr=1&ion=1&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=en&client=tw-ob#auto/en/%E2%80%9CEstoy%20aqu%C3%AD%2C%20mi%20amor.%20Estoy%20aqu%C3%AD%20para%20siempre%2C%E2%80%9D) he murmurs. Both his hands settle at her waist, guiding her in a slow, steady rhythm. Every movement pulls a small cry of pleasure from her now; she feels boneless in his arms, nothing but nerves and hot, rushing joy. She has somehow forgotten the shape of his name in her mouth, or how to put any words at all together. Her head lolls against his shoulder and one of his hands ghosts up her back, possessive but reassuring. He also seems to have lost the ability to form words in either English or Spanish. He pants in time to the motion of her on him and he can’t stop touching her wherever he can reach. She turns her head slightly and they’re kissing again, mouth and bodies pressed together in heat and euphoria. One of them finally remembers a word, and the vowels are drawn out in heavy breaths.

“Amanda,” he says. “Oh.”

Please,” she answers because it’s all she can manage. She knows he’ll understand exactly what she means; all along he’s understood what she’s wanted before she does. Not just tonight, but since this thing started between them. He has anticipated her desires from the beginning so she trusts him to know now what it is she’s saying.

“Yes,” he says, his hands gripping her hips.Her arms tighten on his shoulder. He’s guiding her pace again, a little faster, a little deeper. She is going to melt in his arms; this passion of theirs, the heat of him under her, is going to burn her to nothing. She falls against him, weak with her own desire, but it’s okay. He won’t leave her alone like this, burning for him. “Amanda-”

“Please, oh god, you-” Whatever she’s going to say is cut off by a rough kiss. She feels him tense inside her and she groans in the back of her throat. Her hips rock against him almost of their own accord, but he stills her by pressing one hand at the base of her spine. Her breath is harsh gasps in her throat, her body quaking against him. She’s never felt so complete and so undone. She is living inside her skin and floating above herself, too. He holds her against him, growling his pleasure in her ear, and she feels herself beginning to peak again. 

“Wait,” he says in her ear. “Wait for me this time, _querida.”_ She takes a shaking breath, unable to answer him. His hand on her hip moves her ever so slightly against him, the slightest movement that she feels all through her body. He repeats the movement, tipping his head back and shrugging her off his shoulder so he can watch her face. He’s rocking her against him, a slow exquisite build up to ecstasy. She looks at him, mouth falling open as her pleasure crests.

“Rafael,” she says, her voice high and breathy and far away.

“Yes, Amanda. Yes,” he murmurs. He pulls her hips down hard against him, a shock of gratification going through her. She can’t say anything else, can’t catch her breath, can’t move. Her arms loosen on his shoulders and she’s falling against his chest, ears ringing. She hears him gasping her name, his arm locking around her waist, body straining against her. She thinks she’s murmuring something encouraging to him, thinks she’s pleading with him for more, for everything, but she can’t hear her own voice for the buzzing in her ears and the sound of her name on his lips. She feels it when he comes, a hot spasm inside of her, and he clings to her like she’s the only real thing in the world. They collapse to the bed, both breathing hard and riding out the after-tremors together. 

After a few moments, he rolls her gently off him. He settles her next to him, fingers tracing her cheekbone. She wants to say something, thank him, but she can’t. She can’t think of the right words and there’s really nothing to say anyway. So she presses his hand to her cheek and then kisses the inside of his wrist. That will have to do. His thumb follows the outline of her lower lip and he smiles at her as he sits up. Her eyes fall shut and she drifts on a haze of satiated warmth. He tucks a sheet around her, stroking a lock of hair behind her ear, and goes to the bathroom.

When he comes back, minutes or hours later, she’s mostly asleep. He gathers her to him and she smiles into the hollow of his shoulder. The clean, spiced scent of the hotel soap is on his skin as she snuggles closer.

“I’m stayin the night,” she murmurs. He chuckles.

“Whatever you want, _querida._ ” 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took months to write. A marathon rather than a quickie, if you will. Title comes from the song Marry Me A Little, from Company (the 2006 revival version is, of course, the best version).


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